The Value of Friendship
by CoolBreeze1347
Summary: What was meant to be a relaxing escape turns deadly when Legolas is injured protecting Aragorn. In the aftermath, Aragorn questions his worth and a confrontation between the two leads to greater understanding and a strengthened friendship.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: Thank you so much to everyone who read and reviewed "Stillness"—I truly appreciated your kind words and they definitely encouraged me to keep writing. This story is already written in its entirety and is two chapters long. The final chapter will be posted next week. If I ever start posting anything, I promise you that it will be finished (I don't start posting until the story is completely written). A quick note for this story, like many authors, I take the perspective that Aragorn would have grown up viewing Elrond as his father and Elladan and Elrohir as his brothers.

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The Value of Friendship

Chapter 1

Legolas leaned back against the tree, turning his face upward toward the sun and running his fingertips along the tops of the blades of grass grass, soft under his hands. He closed his eyes and relished the contrasting feelings of the sun warming his skin and the breeze gently cooling it. A sigh of contentment escaped him, he had not felt peace such as this in far too long.

He was visiting Imladris, something he tried to do more frequently since becoming friends with Estel. He tried not to dwell on his friend's mortality, but the boy had turned into a man seemingly overnight and his thoughts turned far more frequently to the passage of time than they ever had before in his life. So Legolas visited Rivendell more often, but his visits tended to be short. Often just a few short weeks, sometimes a month or a little more if the Woodland Realm could spare him. The demands of his home never allowed him to be gone for too long.

For his part, Legolas relished the breaks. The reprieve from the darkness of his home, however fleeting, left him refreshed and reinvigorated, ready to return to the fight. And even though he stole away as often as he could, Estel still seemed to have aged every time Legolas saw him. He was a ranger now, with a life of his own away from Imladris, spending more and more time with his brethren by distant blood and less with those who had raised him.

Legolas and Estel had arranged for this meeting months ago. Estel had been with the rangers and was in need of a break. Life in the Mirkwood had left Legolas exhausted, struggling to cope with the demands of being both a prince and a captain. Despite their mutual desires for time away from their duties and pre-planning, both had failed to meet at the appointed time. Aragorn and the rangers had been helping towns along the river Bruinen recover from recent flooding. Legolas had been on a patrol that had discovered multiple new spider nests in an area that the elves previously believed to be reasonably safe.

But chance intervened where well-laid plans failed. Both Legolas and Estel had arrived in Imladris within hours of each other a week late, ready to apologize profusely to the other. Instead of apologies, they shared laughter over their mutual tardiness.

They spent a week in Imladris, allowing Estel to spend time with his adopted family and giving both of them much needed rest before setting out from Rivendell with no destination in mind, aimlessly following the paths that surrounded the Last Homely House.

Those paths had eventually lead them to this clearing, the tree against which Legolas currently reclined, and the elf's sigh of happiness.

The ranger, however, was troubled. He sat across from Legolas, trying to relax, but failing. His thoughts drifted to dark places. He reclined in the grass for a few minutes, and was distracted by the feel of an ant searching for food on his arm. He sat up, brushed off the insect and moved a few feet away. He placed his hands behind him and slouched backward. He considered Legolas, and the elf's peaceful state. He too tried turning his face toward the sun, but found himself drumming his fingers restlessly.

Giving up on just enjoying the moment, he rummaged through his pack for his pipe and pipe-weed. Lighting it, he drew in a deep breath and exhaled in a huff. The smoke drifted on the breeze to Legolas, who grimaced and opened his eyes to glare at the ranger.

"Must you do that?" the elf asked, eyeing the pipe disdainfully, "You've learned much from the rangers, but this particular practice of theirs is one you could have done without."

"It relaxes me," Estel replied with a shrug.

"And it disgusts me," Legolas gestured around him, "This part of the valley is beautiful, the weather is perfect, we've nowhere to be and nothing to do, is that not enough to relax you?"

"Idleness doesn't sit well with me these days."

"It's not idleness, it's rest, and it's important," a frown marred the elf's face, he knew that Aragorn had been wrestling with internal thoughts that he had not yet shared throughout their easy journey, "What troubles you?"

Estel drew in several deep breaths from his pipe while he considered his next words. More and more lately, he thought of the future—the future of Middle Earth and his role in it. The weight of that future had been a heavier and more constant burden than ever before. He found himself afraid that he would be a disappointment to all those who believed in him. And it seemed that any time he thought any part of this, his thoughts spiraled out of control and he thought about everything that concerned him. It was easy enough to avoid when he could throw himself into his work with the rangers, but there were no distractions here.

The man thought about opening up to Legolas, but did not want to ruin what was a nearly perfect afternoon. And, very deep down, a small part of him was afraid that Legolas might confirm his fears. That Legolas would tell him he needed to embrace the future laid out before him and reclaim the throne of Gondor, and he did not know if he wanted that.

As Aragorn mussed, the smoke continued to drift toward Legolas, the elf rolled his eyes and sighed in defeat, standing with exaggerated annoyance and moving upwind of the offending smell and causing his human friend to chuckle at him, "I thought you were a friend to all things that grow, wood elf. Pipeweed is a natural pant." Estel teased.

"I would rather you let it grow and let it be."

The settled into a companionable silence once again, but Legolas did not lean back or close his eyes. Instead, he watched the ranger closely, fully aware that he had never gotten an answer to his question.

Aragorn recognized that the knowing look the elf was giving him, and approached the question cautiously, "Legolas, where do you think you'll be in ten years?"

"I do not know," Legolas replied, "Ten years is not long to an elf, but these are uncertain times. Likely, things will be much then as they are now and I will continue to fight for my father. Where do you think you will be?"

The ranger bit his lip and shifted uncertainly, "I have been thinking about the future a lot lately. I worry over it ceaselessly, and I cannot put it out of my mind."

"What is it that worries you?"

"There are many who have…" he trailed off, "expectations of me. I fear being a disappointment, I fear that I am not as great as they believe me to be."

Legolas considered his words, "You have yet to be a disappointment, and you are great, but I empathize with such fears."

Estel looked surprised, "You do?"

"Of course! I am the prince and the captain of a people at war. My father, his war council, the warriors who answer to me, and our people all have expectations of me. I do all I can in our struggle, but those who follow always deserve better than their leaders can give. I have made many mistakes, others have been injured or even lost their lives because of it. We could someday lose our fight because of decisions that I make. I too fear disappointing others. I too have struggled to find hope at times."

"But you have already met so many expectations, Legolas! You fill your duties as a prince, you are one of the greatest archers in all of Middle Earth, and you lead your people in their fight with unparalleled expertise. If you fail or fall short somehow, none could have done better."

"You exaggerate my abilities, and I thank you for the kind words. But, I did not mean to make this about me. You said fear being a disappointment, do you doubt your own abilities? You have achieved many successes in your young life, and you show much promise for the future, whatever it may bring."

"We know what it will bring—war, and the expectation that I will lead the race of men through it and after it," Aragorn absently fiddled with Barahir's ring on his finger.

Legolas noticed and was quiet.

"My father spoke to me again of my destiny when I returned," Aragorn said softly, "He speaks of it with more and more frequency. He is waiting, I think, for me to show more initiative in achieving it. The other rangers, they look to me to lead despite the fact that others among them have more experience in such matters. My brothers have shifted their attention away from combat skills in our training sessions to strategy and history. I feel that everyone around me is preparing me for a very specific future, and I do not know whether I want it."

"There are forces at play that are beyond our control," Legolas said, equally softly, "It does no good to dwell on such things. Believe me, I know. All you can do is the best you can with what you have. You can speculate, but you do not yet know what the future will ask of you."

"I fear it will be too much," Aragorn said, "I fear it will be beyond me and that I will disappoint everyone who has given so much for me throughout my life."

Legolas looked Estel directly in the eye, "I think you will do great things, my friend, but you could never disappoint me."

Aragorn looked unconvinced and looked away, "Let us ride from here. These dark thoughts are not right for such a fine day."

The elf recognized the ranger's deflection, but accepted it. For now, he was simply glad that the man had opened up to him, they would discuss this more eventually. For now, if Estel could avoid such upsetting thoughts for a time, the elf would not stop him.

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They rode throughout the afternoon, their pace unhurried. Sometimes, they maintained a companionable silence; other times they spoke of lighter subjects than they had in the clearing.

Legolas was laughing at Estel's tale of a harmless but foolish town drunkard's efforts to save barrels of ale from a flash flood when he noticed the trees no longer reached out to him in greeting, but instead whispered of danger. Legolas quieted, and stilled his horse. Aragorn, recognized the look of concentration on his friend's face. He did not speak, but reached almost instinctively for his sword.

The elf reached out with all of his senses, he stilled his breath and strained his ears, narrowed his eyes and searched their surroundings, and opened his mind to the murmuring of the trees. He felt half blinded here, where the trees were not used to the presence of a wood elf. The trees in his home would have provided a far more specific warning far sooner. The trees here were used to neither danger nor such free communication with the elves that wandered beneath their boughs. For although all elves shared an affinity with the natural world, none could connect with the trees so well as the wood elves.

And then he caught it, the sense of darkness from the east. The threat, at first an indistinct darkness, materialized into a more clear picture. "Orcs," he warned, his brow crinkling in confusion, "They move quickly, more quickly than they should—wargs too, perhaps?"

"What of their numbers? Can we fight, or should we run?"

Legolas narrowed his eyes, he could see them now and they did indeed have wargs and set a furious pace, "We risk being overrun, and I would not lead them closer to Imladris. I think they know we are here, they may follow," the threat neared, but the proximity allowed Legolas to pick up more details, "We can defeat them, they number less than twenty. Perhaps it is a scouting party?"

"Only twenty, it hardly seems fair," Aragorn said with a slight smile, "Will there be any left for me after you're done with your bow?"

Legolas glanced at the ranger, "I can spare you a few," he responded, also grinning.

Legolas drew his bow and knocked at arrow, he waited patiently for the foul creatures to come within the wide range of his deadly aim. He released and had drawn and fired his bow again before the first arrow struck an orc in the eye, the second finding the eye of the warg the orc rode. It was foolish of the dark creatures to continue their pursuit against the bow of an elf and a the sword of a ranger. But the chance to slay an elf was too great a temptation for them and they drove forward, heedless of the loss of their own numbers.

The archer continued firing, and with every shot, another orc fell. Aragorn drew his sword, ready to cut down any who made it to them and was met with much thinner ranks than they would have faced but for the elf's bow.

As Aragorn used his sword to eliminate threats near to them, Legolas hung back, still using his bow to limit the number of enemies that made it to Aragorn's waiting blade. He scanned the unorganized ban constantly, but concentrated on the orc's nearest Aragorn as they posed the biggest threat. And because of that, he missed the danger to his friend a moment too late to prevent harm.

Like Legolas, an orc had also hung back, intent to do damage from afar. The orc was pointing a crossbow directly at Aragorn, who did not see the threat. Dread filled Legolas as he realized it was too late: there was no time to disarm or disable the orc, but there might be enough time to save his friend.

The elf reacted almost instantly, taking only the time necessary to order his body to move. Legolas launched himself off of his horse and into the fray as the orc fired. Elf and bolt simultaneously flew through the air toward the unsuspecting human; the bolt was faster, but the elf was closer. Legolas arrived a moment before the deadly projectile, colliding with the unsuspecting ranger and tackling him to the ground. Time seemed to slow down for the elf. He first felt relief at having saved his friend; then pain, as the bolt instead found his own chest; and finally fear that Estel might still be injured by the fall. They landed in a graceless heap, Legolas on top of Estel.

When they hit the ground, the ranger reacted on instinct, turning toward what he perceived to be a threat, pulling a knife from his belt, and wondering how an orc had gotten past Legolas to attack him from so close. It was only reflexes born of training with elves that saved Legolas from a stab wound.

"Legolas," Aragorn gasped in shock, "What…" Aragorn did not know where to begin.

 _Safe_ , the thought filtered through Legolas's muddled thoughts; he could not conclude that the ranger was uninjured, but he was well enough to keep fighting. "Crossbow," he choked out, "Behind us."

The elf shoved himself up from the ground, nearly collapsing back on top of Estel when his arm threatened to give out. He gritted his teeth and made it to his knees, pulling the knife from the still stunned ranger's fingers and throwing it thirty yards to strike the orc, who was loading another bolt into his crossbow, in the throat. It fell to the ground, gurgling out its final breath.

Aragorn watched in shock, his eyes widening as they took in the thick black shaft that protruded from Legolas's chest, dangerously near to his heart—the ranger refused to consider the thought that the elf's heart had been struck. Estel pushed past his stunned disbelief and moved, grabbing the sword that he had dropped in the fall and attacking the remaining orcs with a fierce vengeance. Slashing two in the throat and decapitating the final orc before running back and dropping to his knees at his friend's side.

Legolas had remained upright only long enough to ensure Aragorn was well and fell back to the ground as the ranger returned to him. Aragorn dived for his friend, reaching to control the elf's fall and prevent it from worsening the injury. Legolas looked at Aragorn with wide, frightened eyes, seeming to search the ranger, "You are well?"

Estel's face contorted with pain at the question, but not physical pain, "I am well, you foolish, self-sacrificing, irrational elf. Why did you do that, Legolas?" Aragorn bent closer, examining the wound, breathing out a sigh of relief when he was certain that the bolt had indeed missed the elf's heart. He turned the elf slightly, and felt his own heart race as he realized that the bolt had gone all the way through the elf's chest, the point of it sticking out of his back maybe half an inch.

"I did it," Legolas paused to regain his breath before continuing his voice tight with pain, "for you."

"Come on," Aragorn said, moving to stand and bring the elf with him, "We are close to Imladris, we ride there immediately and my father can treat you."

Legolas barked out a cry of pain before abruptly cutting it off as the ranger grabbed his shoulders, ready to help him up. "Wait," he gasped, breathless with pain, "Wait."

"Legolas, we cannot delay, this is serious. We must go back, it is our best hope."

Legolas grasped his friend's hands with fading strength. "Take it out," he pleaded.

Estel felt his heart break, "I cannot, not here. The blood loss would be too dangerous, it is better to leave it, you know this. I will keep pressure on the wound while we ride and then my father will help you."

"No," Legolas shook his head, "It…it n-needs to come out. There is," a paused for breath again and Aragorn began to suspect an injury to his lung, "something wrong."

Fear shot through the ranger. Legolas did not want to say the word aloud, but Estel had no such qualms, "Poison?"

Legolas nodded jerkily, "I fear so. It—it feels wrong. Something is amiss."

"Alright," Estel responded, forcing himself to calm, to remember his training as a healer, "What, exactly is amiss?" He did not doubt the elf, but wanted to know the first symptoms the elf was feeling to help determine the cause of the problem.

"It is difficult to breath," the elf said slowly, "And I feel more tired than I should, the blood loss is not so bad…"

Aragorn's pack had been discarded before the fight, he reached out and dragged it to him and pulled a small dagger and bandages from it. Using the dagger, he cut away Legolas's tunic. The bolt was most the way through the elf, only a few inches of the shaft and the fletching stuck out from the elf's chest. "I need you to sit up," Aragorn said, gently pulling on the elf's shoulders, stopping only when Legolas rested against him. Part of the arrow's head stuck out of the elf's back, "Oh, Legolas…"

Orcs, ever inventive in their cruelty, frequently barbed their bolts and arrows. Aragorn could not say for sure, but he suspected this too was barbed. If he was correct, pulling out would only cause more damage and further endanger the elf's lungs and heart.

"Legolas, can you tell if…" he trailed off, not wanting to ask.

"It's barbed?" Legolas answered, his voice tight and breathless, "No, I do not know."

"If it is…"

"I know. Do it quickly."

Aragorn closed his eyes for a moment, knowing that he would cause his friend more pain. He picked up the dagger again and cut the fletching off of the arrow. He then put the flat part of the blade on the end of the arrow, still balancing Legolas in his precarious seated position.

"On three," Aragorn said, "One, two—" he pushed against the dagger, forcing the bolt the rest of the way through the exist wound in the elf's back. A cry of pain was torn from Legolas's lips. His entire body went rigid and Aragorn could see the outline of every formidable muscle in the archer's shoulders and back as he fought to stay still when every instinct he had urged him to try to escape the pain. Aragorn was grateful that his friend succeeded in holding still, he was not sure he could have restrained the wounded elf.

As soon as the entirety of the bolt's head was exposed, the healer changed tactics, grabbing it and pulling it swiftly but smoothly. It proved too much for the elf's considerable pain tolerance, and he passed out; his tense body suddenly relaxed, his lolling forward onto Aragorn's shoulder. Aragorn wanted the throw the offending object as far from them as he could, but he knew that would help no one. He set it next to him carefully, knowing his father would use it to try to identify whatever poison or toxin that might be on it. He wasted no effort trying to do that here—he did not have the supplies to treat such a malady here in any case and he would not waste time. Hastily, but dexterously, he bandaged the wounds. This was no skillful healing, this was battlefield medicine. It was not meant to cure, it was intended only to keep the patient alive long enough to allow true healing.

Aragorn debated only for a moment before pulling the elf's torn and bloodied tunic back onto him. There was no reason to ruin another one and the tunic would be welcome if Legolas, a stranger to cold, developed a fever.

He was fortunate that the horses had not wandered in the minutes that had passed since the fight had ended. He quickly secured both of their packs to Legolas's horse, who kept glancing between the elf and Aragorn, seeming to understand that all was not well.

Moving back to the elf, Aragorn lifted him gently, glad for his friend's slender build. Awkwardly, but carefully, he lifted Legolas onto his horse and climbed up behind him, making sure to keep a good grip on his friend as he did so.

Once mounted, he clucked his tongue and urged his horse into a gallop toward Imladris. Legolas's horse followed without prompting, unwilling to be left behind if his master was leaving.

The ride back was hellish for both elf and ranger. Legolas regained lucidity shortly after they started riding. Estel wished he had not. Although the horse stepped with care, every bobble and sway caused Legolas to tense with pain. The closer they got to Imladris, the more Legolas slipped away from reality. His wound throbbed ceaselessly, he shivered despite the warmth of the summer evening, and his lungs seemed to be fighting against him.

"Aragorn?" Legolas said weakly.

"Yes, my friend," Aragorn replied.

"If this does not end well," Legolas paused to take a breath, "You need to know and, more importantly," another worrying pause to breathe, "You need to believe that it was not your fault."

Aragorn closed his eyes and swallowed hard against the emotion he felt building within him. He tightened his hold on the elf, refusing to let go in any way, "It will end well, Legolas. Stay awake, don't give up."

"Stay awake," Legolas murmured, as though to himself, "I won't give up, but I fear whatever fell toxin the orcs used may overcome me."

"Did something change?"

Legolas hesitated before answering, "My hands and feet tingle, and it grows more difficult to breathe."

"Relax your muscles, tension will not help with the breathing. Hang on my friend, we'll be home soon." This was not entirely a lie. They were mere hours from Imladris, not days. Estel hoped they were close enough, "Show me that elven strength I've heard so much about all my life."

The elf's shoulders shook with his slight chuckle.

Aragorn pulled him closer again. "Just breathe," he whispered, "and stay awake."

They continued to ride, and eventually Legolas let his head rest limply on the ranger's shoulder.

"Legolas? Are you with me?"

Legolas turned his head toward Aragorn's voice, but did not answer. He found he could not, he had no breath to waste on words.

Aragorn listened with mounting fear to the elf's labored breathing—each shallow breathe sounded unnatural and strained, "Stay awake, Legolas, stay awake and breathe. You don't need to speak."

The words floated to Legolas as though through a fog, _stay awake, stay awake, breathe, stay awake_. Staying awake and breathing—these tasks should be so simple, but both were presently a struggle.

Comfort for Legolas was now of little concern, they had to get home. Aragorn urged his horse faster.

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End note: That's all for now; hope you enjoyed it! I'll be back next week with the second and final chapter!

-Cool Breeze


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: Thank you so much to everyone who read, reviewed, and/or favorited chapter one. I will reply to each review, but I had to choose between that and posting the second and final chapter, and I figured you'd rather have the rest of the story… Without further ado, here you go!

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The Value of Friendship

Chapter 2

Elrond was walking the paths of the gardens, lost in his own reverie, when he was disrupted by a commotion from the courtyard. He heard the clatter of hoof beats on the bridge that lead to The Last Homely House and wondered who was creating such a commotion. He idly considered that Estel and Legolas had returned, but dismissed the possibility—they were not expected to return for several days yet. He was therefore surprised when he heard his son's frantic calls for help.

Alarmed, he moved quickly to the courtyard. He arrived and took in the scene before him in an instant. A frazzled attendant was holding the reigns of the horse upon which his son sat, supporting a boneless Legolas in front of him. Blood stained the young elf's tunic, his eyes were closed, and he was limp in the human's arms.

Estel saw his father and called out to him, "Adar! Please help him, Adar!" His voice expressed his relief at the healer's sudden appearance, and also an unmistakable note of fear.

Elrond wasted no more time and ran forward, carefully relieving his son of his burden and pulling Legolas from the horse. Legolas's head lolled in the general direction of the elven lord, and half-lidded eyes gazed unfocused in his direction. While glad to see the young elf still somewhat conscious, his condition was hardly encouraging. "What happened, Estel?"

"Orcs," Estel replied, swinging off of the horse, shouldering his pack, and immediately falling into step beside his father, swiftly heading toward the healing wing, "We were attacked only a few hours ride from here."

Elrond frowned, orcs so close to his well-protected borders was ill news indeed.

"We killed the ones who attacked us, but there may be more. Legolas suspected that we only encountered a scouting party. He took a bolt to the chest, near his heart, during the fight. He suspected poison, so I removed it before we returned," Aragorn dutifully reported.

If this unwelcome revelation alarmed Elrond, the steadfast healer did not show it, "What are his symptoms?"

"His heart beats too slow and he mentioned tingling in his extremities. Breathing became a struggle for him on the way back. For nearly an hour now, he has fought for every breath. He is very weak, but I bound the wound well—I do not believe his troubles are caused by blood loss."

Elrond feared the assessment of some sort of poison or toxin was correct, but hoped he would be able to solve the problem, "Do you still have the bolt?"

"Yes," Aragorn nodded, "In my pack."

"That is well."

They reached the healing rooms, and Elrond carefully placed Legolas on a bed and began removing his torn and bloodied tunic.

Aragorn opened his pack to grab the object of their present misery, "I tried to keep him awake. He has been in and out of consciousness for the past hour."

For his part, Legolas caught only snatches of the conversation. He kept repeating the mantra in his head, _stay awake, stay awake, breathe, stay awake…stay…awake…breathe…stay…_ But it was confusing and difficult and the words had lost their meaning. Aragorn wanted him to fight to stay awake, so he fought. But he was losing, and he knew it. He only realized he had stopped breathing and needed to take a breath when his body became oxygen deprived and demanded he force air into his lungs. It was gasping and shallow and unsatisfying. _Breathe..._

Elrond bent over Legolas and considered his patient. He listened to the labored, shallow breaths, felt the weak and slow beat of the pulse, and noted the lack of awareness and general lethargy. Carefully, he removed the bandage covering the wound on the archer's chest, loath to take any action that would cause Legolas to lose more blood, but knowing the wound needed proper treatment, especially if there was poison. Fresh blood seeped from the wound when the bandage was pulled away, undoing any clotting that Legolas's healing abilities had caused. Grabbing a clean cloth, Elrond pressed firmly onto the wound, needing the bleeding to slow so he could inspect it properly.

Legolas drew in a ragged breath, his body tensing and rising slightly from the bed. His hands started upward as though to stop the knew pain the healer's actions caused, but failed halfway through the gesture, dropping clumsily back to the sheets. He instead clenched his hands into fists and pressed his head back into the pillow. He was dimly aware of someone repeating his name, begging him to listen, to relax. _Aragorn,_ Legolas realized.

"Easy, penneth," another voice sounded, deep and soothing. Legolas tried to make his eyes focus on the elven lord's face, but he was struggling to keep up with what was happening around him. He was aware that he was no longer on a horse, and he felt safe, everything else was lost on him.

"You can let go now," the deep voice sounded again, "Sleep…"

Legolas caught the word "sleep" and sighed in relief. Sleep would be wonderful, but how was he supposed to sleep when Estel had told him to stay awake and it felt as though someone was twisting a blade in his chest. And he feared the numbness that was starting to spread throughout his body. He had felt such a thing before and knew it meant danger.

Elrond recognized his patient's struggle, still keeping pressure on the wound, he placed a hand on Legolas's forehead, "You have done well, Legolas, rest and let us help."

The touch soothed Legolas and slowly, slowly, he relaxed. The tension draining from his muscles, the pain faded to the back of his mind. This time, when the darkness came for him, he did not fight it, and instead slipped quietly into its embrace.

Aragorn was boiling water and adding athelas to it over the room's fireplace, the calming sent filling the air. He looked over to his father and Legolas, guilt twisting in his gut at the sight of his friend. "Is it wise to let him sleep?" he asked quietly.

"Aye, he wastes energy fighting to stay awake and straining to stay still against the pain, I'd rather he save that strength to fight the poison now that he is here. You did well to keep him awake until your return," Elrond assured Estel, "I doubt that he would have answered the call of many on your journey. He is fortunate that he was with you."

"Legolas always tries to answer when I call. He is a dear friend," Aragorn replied as he disposed of the soiled bandages he had applied in the field.

"Your voice can compel many to answer, whether they be friend or stranger."

Aragorn froze for a moment before resuming his task, "He should not have to answer anyone's call right now. He was hurt protecting me." The ranger offered his father the bolt.

Elrond examined it closely, inspecting the tip, which was stained with more than just elven blood. He sniffed it and considered this new evidence along with his patient's symptoms for a moment before nodding to himself. He handed the bolt back to Estel. "What do you think?" Elrond, ever the teacher, asked as moved to mix the appropriate herbs.

Aragorn looked up from where he was meticulously cleaning the wounds to his friend's chest and back to take the arrow. He too eyed it critically and sniffed it, something that he had not had the time to do after removing it, "Aconite?" Aconite was a toxic plant that could be weaponized and applied to arrows or blades. Even a small dose could cause a slow and painful death. Aragorn didn't have Elrond's strong sense of smell, and could only detect the faintest trace of the plant, but the symptoms matched.

"Aye," Elrond agreed, "Aragorn, had this arrow struck you, Legolas would not have been able to heal you and you almost certainly would have been beyond my help before he could have gotten you here. On the other hand, he will recover."

"He did not know that he would live when he did this. It would not matter what toxin the orcs had used or even if they had used none at all had it struck his heart."

"Perhaps he knows that some people are worth any saving, even at a great price."

Aragorn shook his head, "Adar, please, let us not have this conversation now. Legolas needs us."

Elrond smiled at his son, he had never stopped moving to attend to the prince and would not put a life in danger for the sake of a conversation, however important, but acquiesced to his son's request, "Indeed he does."

Father and son worked together over the wounded elf. There was no antidote for this particular ailment, but they could treat the symptoms, make Legolas comfortable, and give him the help he needed to fight off the toxin himself. Elrond was proud of the skill Aragorn had acquired. As they worked together, he admired the human's steady hands and gentle touch.

They worked until nearly dawn, ensuring the wound was clean and stitched and preparing herbs that would ease the labored breathing, fight the fever, and alleviate the pain. Legolas had already begun to respond to their treatment. He still had a fever, but his breathing was less labored and Elrond was satisfied by the steady, if still somewhat slow, beat of his the young elf's heart.

When there was nothing more that could be done, Elrond settled into a chair next to Legolas's bed and gazed at the guilty look on his son's face, "He will recover, Estel. You've no need to feel such guilt over his actions."

Aragorn, sitting on the edge of the elf's bed, did not look like he agreed, "It could have gone so differently. If the bolt had struck but an inch lower, if we had been further from your halls, if he had not felt the poison before we set out... It all could have gone differently. It was supposed to be a safe, relaxing trip. We weren't even hunting!"

Elrond took his son's hands in his own, "However it could have gone, this is how it did go. The Valar must love you both. Do not dwell on such dark possibilities when they did not come to pass."

Estel sighed and took one hand from his father's and placed it upon Legolas's brow, "He still has a fever."

The elven lord also reached out to check on the young elf, "Aye, but you know that is to be expected. It has not gone up in the past hour, which is well. And his heartbeat is much stronger now, and steady as well. He will heal; you know his strength."

Aragorn bit his lip, but nodded. He knew that Legolas was mostly past the danger now, but would not be satisfied until his friend woke up and told him so himself.

"I have no doubt," Elrond continued, "that in a few days' time, it will be all but impossible to keep him in bed. Legolas is generally only compliant with such a demand when unconscious or asleep."

Aragorn smiled at that. It was true, Legolas was a notoriously restless patient. Unused to inactivity, he did not take to it well, even when his body needed rest. "I hope so, his refusal to stay in bed is the first sign that he is truly on his way to recovery."

"Estel," Elrond said, settling more deeply into his chair, "you should go clean up and rest yourself. He will not wake for some time and you too had a trying day."

"No," Aragorn protested, "Not yet. I wish to stay with him for a while."

"If you will not rest, at least go and change clothes."

Aragorn looked down at himself. He had cleaned his hands, but blood still stained his tunic and trousers. His friend's blood. He suddenly felt that he could not change quickly enough, but his eyes again flitted to Legolas.

"Go, Estel," Elrond assured him, "I will stay with him. Take your time."

Aragorn nodded gratefully and fled the room.

When Aragorn was out of ear shot, Elrond turned to the still, pale elf on the bed. He gripped the too warm hand in his own and whispered, "Thank you. Thank you for everything." Elrond put Legolas's hand back down at his side, and smoothed the blanket covering him in a very fatherly gesture. He placed one hand on the elf's chest to monitor his breathing and heart, confident that it would be well, but wanting to be reassured of it himself.

Legolas had long been a friend to Elladan and Elrohir, and Elrond had always regarded the courteous, gentle-natured young prince fondly. As the threat to Mirkwood grew, however, Legolas's visits to Imladris decreased in frequency and duration. Occasionally, his father would send him to Imladris to rest or to heal. During that time, Legolas seemed different on every visit, and he was changing rapidly, especially for an elf. Still courteous, there was a hardness to him that had not existed before. His eyes were still warm and welcoming, but sometimes Elrond caught a haunted look in the young elf's eyes when he thought no one was looking. The elven prince had been raised to be a warrior, but training to be a warrior and going to battles as a warrior were two different things. Always slender and strong, the elf had become more angular and more muscular. In short, Legolas was forced to grow up too quickly and too soon, and to take on duties beyond his years. Elrond's fondness shifted to protectiveness as he wished to shelter the young one from the horrors of war. He could not do so; Legolas saw and suffered terrible things, but the elven lord could offer him a safe refuge in which to heal when either his duties allowed or his injuries demanded time away.

Legolas had been wary of Elrond's human son when he had first met him. He was never unkind to him, but he kept his distance. But the boy's unreserved fascination with and admiration for "a real elven warrior from today, not from forever ago" had worn him down. The human child had brought out a youthful side in Legolas that had been all but gone for centuries. Now, Elrond regarded Legolas with a fatherly affection. He would have mourned deeply had something happened to the young prince. But he was also grateful—grateful that this young elf loved his most fragile son enough to give his life for the human, grateful that his son had someone like that in his life, and grateful that Legolas would survive this.

Legolas slept on in a deep healing sleep, lulled by the peace of The Last Homely House.

* * *

Legolas woke slowly. Senses returned to him one at a time. First, scent. He could smell herbs, the distinct scent of a fire, and—more faintly—fresh mountain air, tinged with flowers. He was not home then. Home smelled of damp earth, fallen leaves, and the resin of the trees. Sound was next. He could hear his own shallow breathing, and the steady breaths of someone else nearby. Farther away, he could hear birds singing and the gentle roar of a swift flowing river. Dully, he realized that he was in Imladris. Feeling followed this realization, and it was a sense he could have done without. Although he found himself on a soft bed, he was not comfortable. His lungs ached and he had to work for each breath he took, it felt as though a weight was settled upon his chest. A sharp, persistent pain made itself known near his left shoulder and he could not stop the groan that escaped his lips.

A chair scraping the floor sounded next to him, "Legolas? Are you awake?"

The elf heard, but did not respond right away. It would have been pleasant to just drift away again, but there was worry in the voice that called to him that he could not ignore. With far more effort than it should have taken, Legolas opened his eyes. Without yet moving his head, he glanced to his side, Estel knelt next to the bed and leaned over him, concern showing in his eyes.

Memory came back then, the pain, the struggle to breathe, the ride to Imladris, the bolt, the danger to Aragorn… "Are you well?" Legolas asked, his voice raspy with sleep. He thought he remembered asking this before, was almost certain that his friend had not been hurt. But he was not completely certain, and he had to know.

Estel shook his head in exasperation, "I am fine, Legolas, you are the one we should be worried about."

Legolas did not answer, and instead closed his eyes and concentrated on drawing another deep breath, testing the strength and capacity of his lungs. It was much better than he remembered it being on their way here. When he opened his eyes again, Aragorn had moved away.

Estel went to the fire that still burned in the hearth and added a handful of fresh athelas to the pot of water sitting above it. The sweet, calming scent filled the air and he heard the elf inhale deeply again behind him, and exhale with a sigh of contentment. "How is the pain?" he asked.

"Much better than it was," Legolas said slowly, "I think I am alright."

"You almost weren't," Aragorn poured a cup of water from a pitcher on a nearby table, and set it on the nightstand next to Legolas. Carefully, he helped the elf to sit up, and arranged the pillows behind Legolas, trying to avoid looking at the pained expression on his friend's face. "If we had been farther away Legolas…" Aragorn trailed off, not wanting to think about what that could have meant as he handed the water to the elf.

Legolas took sipped the water carefully, flatly ignoring the way his hand trembled, "But we weren't, and even if we had been, I trust you and your skills as a healer."

But Aragorn wasn't ready to back down and accept the elf's dismissal of his fears. He had been stewing over what could have happened, what very nearly had happened the entire time his friend had slept, "Legolas, you took an arrow for me!"

"A bolt," Legolas muttered, "Don't compare that foul weapon to true archery."

Aragorn shook his head, "This is no joke! Call it what you want, Legolas, you must have realized the risk of poison from any orc weapon! And even if it had not been poisoned, that was no guarantee of your survival!"

"I saw that you were in danger. I acted to stop it. I will not apologize for that."

"You should not have done it!"

"Of course I should have! I gladly risk my life for you; you are well worth it."

"No, Legolas," Aragorn responded, his father's efforts to discuss his future still on his mind, "I am a ranger of the north, nothing more. You see things because you want to see them, even if they are not really there. All my life people have seen things in me that are not there. I am not worth such a sacrifice!"

"What?" Legolas responded, surprised by the change in conversation. They had been talking about what had happened, not what may happen someday. The elf had not realized just how much this particular topic weighed upon his friend's mind when they discussed it earlier. His mind still moving slowly, he took up the new topic, "But you're not just a ranger—you are great now and you are destined for greatness in the future! Aragorn, you cannot stop others from seeing that in you. That is what friends do—they see the best in us even when we can't see it for ourselves."

"I would not have you risk your life so that I might claim a destiny I do not even want!"

"You think I risked my life for you so that you might someday be king?"

"Yes! Legolas, I love you as a brother, but my whole life people have been making sacrifices for me so that I might someday claim the throne of Gondor—it is not worth that."

Legolas felt his jaw drop and his face twisted in surprise. Those words hurt him deeply. It had not occurred to him that Aragorn had mistaken his motivations. Normally, Legolas would have explained calmly, but this new emotional pain, added to the fatigue and physical pain he already felt, made his temper run short. Legolas rose to his feet fueled by a temporary strength born of frustration, "Let me be perfectly clear, ranger, I did not risk my life for you because you are Aragorn, son of Arathorn. I did it because you are Estel, my friend. I do not care whether you become king, remain a ranger, or take up a life as a barkeep in Bree. I did not realize that you saw me as a shepherd leading you unwillingly to a future you did not want." Legolas was only halfway across the room when his adrenaline-fueled energy failed him. He faltered, staggering slightly and grabbing for a chair to remain upright.

Aragorn was at his side in an instant, grabbing his elbow and supporting him, "Sit down, Legolas, you will only make the wound worse."

Legolas didn't have much choice in the matter as Aragorn guided him the few steps back to the bed. The herbs for the pain he had been given before were starting to wear off and the toxin and blood loss left him feeling weak and shaky. He half sat down, half fell down, as the back of his knees hit the side of the mattress. He let himself keep going and let his head fall into his hands, taking deep, deliberate breaths as he waited for the blackness in his vision to clear. Aragorn rested his hand on the elf's back, feeling the unnatural heat that was still present there.

Without looking up, Legolas spoke, his voice tight, "I value you and our friendship more than I value my life. Never have I tried to make you someone that you are not or someone that you do not want to be. You are kingly without regard to whether you ever sit on a throne."

Aragorn sighed, "Not now, Legolas, just breathe."

Legolas shrugged out from under Aragorn's arm, and looked at his friend, "Yes, now, Aragorn. I have taken injury with you before, why are you so troubled over it this time?"

"Because this time you did not take injury _with_ me but _for_ me. And you nearly died for your trouble. And worse, I know you would do it again. I am not worth it! If you die, that is an immeasurable sacrifice! Immortality, an infinite possible number of years, ended for a mortal life! It is not rational!"

"Perhaps not from that perspective," Legolas allowed, "But I do not agree with your measuring system. Your worth to me is not measured in years. Never has this been so. And immortality is no guarantee of forever—the elves of my homeland know that better than most. I stepped in front of that bolt for me as much as for you. I could not live with myself for a day let alone eternity had I known I could have done something to save your life and failed to act. You would do the same for me, I think. And I do not believe you would do so because I might live longer than you."

Aragorn turned away, a pained expression on his face, "Of course, Legolas, of course I would. But so many have already given their lives that I might survive. I could not live with myself if you were on that list as well. I could not live with the burden of your death."

"If that should happen, I would ask that you live with the gift of my life, not the burden of my death."

Aragorn let out a sound that was half a strangled sob, half a laugh, as he sat next to Legolas on the bed and let his arm fall about his friend's shoulders.

"I have no regrets for what I did, Aragorn," Legolas said, looking Aragorn square in the eye, "If we are in the same situation in the future, I will do nothing different. But I tell you again, I did not act so that you might claim a throne, I did it so that my friend might live."

"Would you be able to live with it, Legolas? Would you be able to live with it if I laid down my life for yours?"

Legolas cast his eyes downward, "I would feel the pain of your loss every day. But, like you, I already live with the pain of lost loved ones who died so that I might live. It is hard sometimes, but I do try to recognize their sacrifices for the gifts they are."

"I cannot handle such a gift—its cost is too great."

"It is not, for you would owe nothing in return."

Aragorn sighed. He had long known that Legolas cared for him, that Legolas saw him as a dear friend, but this had proved they were something more. Lord Elrond was his father, Elladan and Elrohir his brothers. But they took him in, protected him, raised him, and trained him because of the destiny he might one day fulfill. He knew that he was loved, but he also knew they had expectations of him. With Legolas, it was different. The Mirkwood elf owed him no obligation, but nonetheless offered his friendship freely, expecting nothing in return. The elf might have hopes for him, but there was no pressure behind those hopes. There was only a promise to stand by his side, no matter what.

Here was one who did not value him for who he might be, but for who he already was. That was the truest measure of friendship, and the greatest gift Legolas could give him.

Legolas rested his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. He was ready to keep fighting with Aragorn if the human was determined to continue being stubborn, but the pull of exhaustion on his mind was growing stronger.

Aragorn sat down next to Legolas and put his arm around the elf's shoulders, "I have no truer friend than you, Legolas."

"And I you, Estel. Despite your youth, you know me and understand me as no other does, not even elves who have fought by my side for centuries in my home. I cannot place a value on friendship such as that. But do not despair of your father and brothers, they too love you no matter what."

"Perhaps," the ranger hesitated, but then decided to hold nothing back, "Legolas, I fear I shall disappoint them, that I will lose my home and that there will be no place for me."

"No place for you? Estel, you've more homes than anyone I know—Imladris, with the rangers, in the wilds, and you are always welcome in my home! Your father and brothers have hopes for you, but they will not abandon you for anything. It would go against the nature of your bond with them. You will always be family, and this will always be your home."

Aragorn looked at his friend. It should not have taken this to get him to completely open up to the elf; he should have trusted in the elf's love for him from the beginning. "When did you become so wise?" Aragorn asked wryly.

Legolas leaned heavily against his friend, "Foolish human, I have always been wise, your mortal attention span has just been too fleeting to notice."

Aragorn rolled his eyes. Under normal circumstances, he would have tried to shove his friend, and the elf would probably have danced just out of reach at the last moment. But these were not normal circumstances, and he instead stood and helped his friend lie back down. "I'll get you something for the pain," he held up his hand to stop Legolas before the elf could interrupt, "Don't say you don't need it, I'm not going to listen to you anyway."

Legolas looked away, but did not protest. He would never admit it, but he was not entirely opposed to something that would ease the sharp pain of the wound a little. Moving as much as he had was unwise, what was once a dull ache was now a sharp pain. But he did not regret it. Far better that he suffer a little physical pain than leave Estel to continue wrestling with such emotional turmoil.

Aragorn handed the tea to the elf a few moments later. The herbs did their work quickly and Aragorn watched as the lines of pain on his friend's face eased and his breathing slowed and became deeper. The elf could barely keep his eyes open.

"You don't need to sit there, you know," Legolas murmured, feeling sleep pull at his mind, "I'd wager you could use some rest as well."

"I will rest, but I would sit here a little longer," Aragorn replied, unwilling to leave his friend.

Legolas did not protest, but instead closed his eyes, relishing the scent of athelas that still hung in the air. He was nearly asleep when Estel murmured, "Thank you. Thank you for seeing me for who I am, and asking nothing more. Thank you for your friendship."

Legolas just nodded and drifted off to a peaceful sleep.

Aragorn watched over his friend, feeling more content than he had in a long time. The future would come and it would bring challenges both big and small. In that moment, Aragorn felt he could face all of them so long as his friend was by his side.

* * *

End Notes

And we have reached the end! I'm curious to get your thoughts. It was very difficult to write a fight between two characters that I view as friends/brothers and I hope I got it right. I think we saw in both the books and the movies that these characters were capable of succumbing to frustration under extreme circumstances, so hopefully it didn't feel OOC or forced.

Anyway, thank you so much for taking the time to read the story. As always, I embrace constructive criticism and would love to know what you think. I wish you all the best and hope to post again soon—I'm working on a few more short stories. Realistically, it will take at least a month before I post anything else. I tend to re-read and rework a lot before I'm ready to publish. I enjoy writing h/c or angst stories that feature Legolas; if you have any prompts or ideas, I'm open to suggestions.

Finally, to anyone who submits a review as a guest—thank you! I can't personally reply to those in messages, but know that I appreciate that you took the time to comment!

Until next time,

Cool Breeze


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